Then It Was Over
by tklivory
Summary: The Archdemon is dead, but not without a great sacrifice. - Author's Note: This is my very first piece of Dragon Age fanfic ever written from 2011. It was originally for a prompt on the old Zevran thread over on the original BSN forums. The prompt was "You're so beautiful" and had to include a piece of poetry somewhere in the story, and somehow I ended up with the below fic. Emjoy!


The Queen had given her speech and, duty done, retreated back to the palace. The gathered citizens of Denerim had bowed their heads, giving their respect and silent thanks to the deceased before returning to the remnants of their city to begin anew. The leaders of the gathered armies, one by one, paused beside the stone altar to give their last farewell before gathering their troops to make the long march home. The kith and kin of the dead cried out their grief, then retreated to their own lands to observe the traditional mourning rituals of the fallen.

Alone, a man approached and knelt before his fallen fellow Warden, the sun glinting off of his dark hair. The inner turmoil was plain on his face as he looked at the one who had spared his life not once, but twice, both times in a completely unexpected fashion. He considered the pale face before him: his enemy, then Commander, then Savior. The former general shook his head, then clasped a hand to his heart in a sincere salute before regaining his feet and moving slowly towards the palace to begin his own travels.

A large stone form approached the slab then, looking at the still figure upon it. A robed woman moved to stand beside her, staff winking dully in the fading light as the sun slowly began its descent below the horizon. After a period of time, the golem placed some brilliantly colored crystals on the dais, then turned ponderously and departed. The mage reached towards the supine woman, then sighed heavily and followed after.

Another curious looking pair moved to the stone, then, a giant and a hound. The Qunari merely stood next to the bier, eyes staring thoughtfully at the face of the one who lay upon the surface. Beside him, the Mabari raised its voice in one last mournful howl that brought shivers along the spines of all those who yet remained. With a final bow to his _kadan,_ the warrior looked at the dog at his side and nodded. They moved into the descending dark of the streets behind them, and were soon gone.

And then there were two.

The assassin and the bard approached the altar of death simultaneously, taking up a stance on opposite sides of the stone. For a period of time they merely stood, wrapped in their own memories of the Warden who lay between them. Then Leliana raised her head and said softly, "Do you think he's heard yet?"

Zevran's mouth twisted in disgust. "Do you think he cares?"

The woman flushed at the elf's anger. "I don't know." She reached out and lightly touched the Warden's pale, cold cheek. "I would like to think so." Sighing, she let her hand fall as the tears slowly began to leak from her eyes.

The one across from her did not reply.

Again silence fell, wrapping them both in velvet sorrow. The woman began to sing softly, the elvish words falling from her lips as she remembered tender kisses and passionate nights, a love that had been reluctantly but gracefully relinquished. Leliana sang for the one who had woken her heart, stirred her spirit, and sparked her awareness.

The elf barely heard the soothing melody, wrapped up as he was in his own thoughts of a love that he had never expected, never dreamed of, never hoped for, and never thought to lose. His thoughts burned with anger as he remembered her running to the arms of another man, recalled lying in the dark listening to her moans from across the camp, thought of her tears as that man turned his back and walked away from her forever. He had observed the progression of her grief, wanting to help her, wanting to hold her, but unable to break through the wall she erected around herself. He understood only too well how grief could turn one inside out and distort everything around you. _Once the archdemon was dead,_ he had told himself. _Then I will comfort her. Then I will let her know that she is not alone._

And now, the archdemon was dead.

And _he_ was alone.

Finally the tears came, reluctantly, then with greater force as a low cry burned in the back of his throat. He knelt next to the stone and grasped her arm, preserved into rigidity by magic in anticipation of the transport to Weisshaupt. "No," he said. "It cannot end like this. It _cannot!"_

Leliana grew quiet, then walked around the stone and place a hand on Zevran's shoulder. In a ragged voice, she said, "Come."

Zevran knelt next to the stone for a few more moments, then sighed and looked at the Warden's dead face. He rose from his knees and reached out to lightly caress her face. "You once laughed at poetry that was not of my making, my dear Warden," he said. "Now I give you a true gift, a gift from my heart."

Lightly he brushed his fingers over her arms and softly began reciting the words burning within:

 _The darkness lay all around, destroying all in its path_  
 _Despair conquered without challenge, death its only gift_  
 _Then one chose to stand against it, a single light of hope_  
 _To fight for what was almost gone, no matter the price_  
 _The light that spread over all before it, banishing the dark_  
 _The light that cured all it touched, healing wounds buried deep_  
 _The light that accepted all around it, whether perfect or flawed_  
 _The light that offered the greatest gift, freely giving, never taking_  
 _The light that burned the brightest in the end, before dimming at the last_  
 _Taking the darkness with it, to a place beyond the Fade_

With his last words, the sun settled below the horizon, a flash of final brilliance lighting the somber scene before finally ending that day of sadness.

Reaching into his pocket, Zevran removed the bejeweled earring that he had ached to give her, the symbol that he had wanted so badly displayed to the world by the woman he had, for a small time, considered his own. Gently placing it between her fingers, he bent over and gently kissed her cold lips before straightening.

He turned and regarded the red-haired woman standing beside him. "I am ready." After a moment's scrutiny, she nodded and turned away.

As they moved into the darkness of the new night, Leliana glanced sidelong at her erstwhile companion. "Were you speaking of the Blight?" she wondered speculatively in her softly accented tones. "Or your heart?"

Zevran did not reply. He had not the heart.


End file.
